


The Sentinel Weeps

by d8rkmessngr



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Language, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d8rkmessngr/pseuds/d8rkmessngr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is from a prompt from lj comm st_xi_kink: I want a fic where McCoy meets Kirk's stepfather and being a protective lover/BFF smacks a bitch. Note though, this is drastically different from the original prompt fill though as this piece went through rewrites galore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sentinel Weeps

**Author's Note:**

> From 2009: Help. I'm prompt addicted. Help. Trying to work on "Reinventing Pavlov" and "Eye of the Storm". Really, I am! Smooches to iceiwynd and "she who does not want to be named" for putting up with my rewrites and muse lamenting…

By the time Jim showed up at the brig, grinning and so fucking amused like it was goddamn Christmas, Bones's knuckles had scabbed over and the throbbing on his jaw had dulled to just a heated ache. His head, however, still thought it was a whooping warp core engine, going _thud-thud_ in his skull.

Bones glared up, but apparently, a lifetime of booze-fueled brawls rendered Jim immune to pissed off, hung over country doctors.

"Don't say it," Bones growled as he peered through his bangs because somebody's fucking beer had spilled over his head. Now he smelled like a distillery and he wanted a shower because someone's reeking green Plomeek soup had spilled down his back, sticking his t-shirt and sweater to his armpits. It irked him because the way he remembered it, every brawl _Jim_ came out of didn't leave him smelling like the back alley of a bar. Then again, Bones normally came in just before the food throwing portion of the brawl began and hauled Jim out by the scuff of his collar, like a mama cat hauling away its kitten. Not that he was laying claim to Jim that way; or that Jim Kirk was a kitten. More like a hissy tomcat; with claws and feral teeth and damn hair pointing every which way and eyes as blue as a Georgian summer sky daring you to— 

….

Wait. What was he thinking? 

Bones belched, then held up a finger at the solemn, captainly face peering between the bars because, fuck, how screwed up was this that he needed the _captain_ of the goddamn _Enterprise_ to bail him out of a godforsaken trading colony's flea-infested mud pit of a jail? He was getting a worse headache now.

Jim Kirk opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.

" _Well?_ " Bones snarled. He would get up and grab that nice and shiny new gold uniform through the bars and throttle the kid to within an inch of his smug life. Would, but his ass was hurting from when the colony's only sheriff threw him in there.

Jim blinked at him, his face blank. "I thought you didn't want me to say anything?" Jim folded his arms across his chest and his thumb rubbed the bottom of his smooth chin. "I thought..." A sound suspiciously like a snort was barely stifled. "I would just _savor_ this m-moment."

Whatever control Jim might have had to contain his laughter failed miserably at the last word. Jim rested his right arm on the bars, his left arm wrapped around his middle. He doubled over and laughed.

Fucker.

Bones's lips curled back. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, chuckles."

Jim made a valiant effort to swallow it back down as he straightened.

"Sorry," Jim managed when he clearly was not. "I'm just used to it being _me_ on the other s-side. I can't take you anywhere." 

Bones groaned, his own words thrown back at him. Jim pretty much needed those bars for support now as he succumbed to his humor again, hiccupping in near breathlessness. That was the problem with Jim; once he started laughing, he usually couldn't stop until he was red in the face. There were times when Bones couldn’t stand it; other times when it was so fucking engaging because how often did Jim Kirk honestly get to laugh?

You would never get Bones to admit that, though. The endearing part, that was. Not even with a mind meld from a certain tight-assed hobgoblin.

"Can't think of anything more original than that, asshole?" Bones grumbled as he rose from the only piece of furniture in the cesspit: a lopsided bench with alien graffiti etched into the wood. He groaned as he straightened and hobbled (damn boots had beer in them, fuck he needed new socks now, too) over to stand by the bars.

"I'm all for the classics," Jim quipped but his face abruptly cleared. Blue eyes swept up to Bones's face and his mouth flattened.

"You okay?" Jim's voice was softer now.

It was just like Jim to piss him off and then turn around and hit a hard angle turn making his insides all—he still wasn't sure what to call it. 

Bones growled when he heard the hum of a tricorder, _his_ confiscated tricorder.

"Jim..."

A hand was held up as Jim scanned Bones, his face intent. 

"Hm...ribs look okay, tsk tsk, Doctor McCoy, your BP is elevated, no elevated white count and no fever..."

Bones folded his arms across his chest. "I'm fine."

"Okay, kettle." Jim grinned as he lowered the tricorder, satisfied with whatever he saw. "Then tell me why I was called out of a meeting with the Dewton Trading magistrate by its sheriff, asking me to come fetch my CMO out of jail?"

His socks were bunching up between his toes, the manufacturer label of his shirt itched. Bones shifted from foot to foot and thought he heard his boots squelch.

" _Bones..._ " 

"I was drunk, okay?" Bones snapped, harder than he intended because God, there was still this rage churning in his gut and his fists balled up again by his sides.

"You never get drunk like that," Jim said evenly. "I should know. I watch for shit like that."

And Jim did, well before Bones even knew that was what that wary gaze used to be for. It used to track him when one drink became four, then six. Jim drank but he'd always stopped Bones from following. Someone, Jim had once joked, needed to be upright enough to drag them both back to the dorms.

"What is it?" Jim drew up closer to the bars, his eyes fixed on Bones even though Bones couldn't, _wouldn't_ look at him. 

"Is it..." Jim sucked in his breath sharply. "Did you get word from Earth? About—"

"No." Bones shook his head, regretted it and gripped the bars between them with one hand. The disconnected, floating feeling from the beers and the fight was fizzling out. He was suddenly clear-headed. _Too_ clear-headed and fully aware of the fact he wasn't the only one in jail, waiting for his captain. There were other bodies sprawled on hard floors and benches in neighboring cells.

"Look, let's just get me out of here, back up to civilization, okay?" Bones lifted up his face and stared hard at Jim. "Let's just go. I...I don't want to talk about it." The corner of his mouth quirked up at Jim's frown. "But I'm okay. Really."

Jim glanced down at the tricorder, his brow knitted, his lips pressed together. He peered up at Bones through half-mast eyes and shit, Bones knew that look. Jim had it after he'd failed the _Kobayashi Maru_ for the second time.

"Jim," Bones warned, "Drop it, all right? There's nothing to talk about."

"Nothing?" Jim said slowly, his voice creeping higher, harder. "I get a message that you _attacked_ a man from one of those freighter ships in a goddamn bar. Bones, there were _witnesses_ testifying they heard you threaten this guy, that you were going to kill him! I only got the charges dropped because the other ship's captain and I both promised to get you two off this planet! Bones..."

Bones closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His shoulders slumped. "Jim. Not here. Okay? I'll tell you when we're back on—"

Past Jim, in another corridor, metal bars clanged. Voices, loud, one still piss drunk stomped down the short corridor, getting closer. 

"Bones?" Jim asked when Bones tensed. A scraggly, heavyset man, the freighter's captain probably, stormed past them but before Jim could turn to look, Bones reached through the bars and grabbed Jim by the shoulders. Jim started. 

"Hey, what are you—"

"Jim," Bones whispered urgently, "look at me. Okay? Just. Look. At. Me."

Jim squirmed, his eyes wide, confused and starting to get annoyed when Bones wrenched him closer to the bars and wouldn't let go.

"Bones!" Jim hissed, reaching up to grab at his wrists as the footsteps behind him approached. "What the hell?"

"Just keep your eyes on me." Bones didn't care if he was pleading now. "Jim, just promise me you'll—"

"So your captain's finally here to get you out?" A harsh cough punctuated the words and shit, Jim went rigid under his palms because Bones knew that voice still haunted Jim's nightmares when things got to be too much to cope with, even when asleep. Bones stared at Jim's face, expressionless, his blue eyes gone dead.

"Guess neither one of us is rotting in jail then." The voice, rough with age, was behind Jim now and there was a mean line of satisfaction to see the speaker barely able to spit out his words through the healing broken jaw. Despite whatever first aid the medic in the jail gave, the fucker was still limping, arm curled around his right side, his face livid with a darkening bruise. The sheriff had charged in before Bones could snap his neck. It probably wouldn't have killed him; Bones didn't think he was strong enough to do that, but it would have at least imprisoned the bastard permanently in a bed. 

"Next time, stay off the booze if you can't hold your drink, asshole," the voice went on.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Bones snarled because he could feel the minute tremors under his palms. He kept his eyes on Jim silently pleading to his friend to just look at him. To not turn around.

"Why?" The bastard sneered. "So you can kiss your captain thank you for bailing you out?"

Jim shrugged Bones's hands away before Bones could tighten his grip. He pivoted around slowly and faced the weathered face, stood up tall in spite of the six foot three hulk who tensed at the sight of him.

"No," Jim said flatly. He stayed near the bars but Bones didn't dare touch that ramrod back.

"Before _I_ finish the job," Jim finished, his mouth painfully twisted.

"Hello, Frank."

 

Bones squeezed the bars tight within his fists as Jim stood there, his face away from Bones's view. Christ, the first thing that popped into his head was how small Jim appeared standing in front of the barrel-chested man, even though there were barely inches between them. How must Jim have looked then, twenty years ago, against a giant like that? When Bones had thrown that first punch, it'd felt like hitting a frozen slab of meat. 

Frank was everything that George Kirk was not. Bones remembered Captain Kirk's portrait in one hall in the Academy; a corner of the building Jim never went to. Where George Kirk was slim in build, Frank was wide. Compact shoulders, long limbs—whereas Frank was broad across the chest, arms thick and hanging close to his body. The Kirk lineage had smooth profiles, fine cheekbones, generous mouths; Frank was coarse, carved, almost geometric. Handsome in his own severe way, but nothing like George Kirk. Bones wondered if that was a deliberate choice in the grieving on Winona Kirk's part.

"Captain, huh? Oh, yeah." Frank eyed Jim up and down in a way that made Bones tug uselessly at the bars.

Frank's face contorted into a sneer that warped even the light blond facial hair on his face, the color being the only thing the bastard had in common with the Kirks.

"I remember there was some news about you becoming captain." Frank must have been nearing sixty, yet he stood with all the arrogance of youth and health. It was proof that the universe wasn't always just. His severe close-to-the-skull haircut made his skin look like it was stretched across his face. Every expression he made looked like it hurt.

The smile Frank made was more like a grimace. "I suppose congratulations are in order." He didn't offer his hand.

The curved mouth Jim offered in return was just as painful. "Thank you. You're about five months too late though."

Frank grunted, or laughed. It was hard to tell past all the swelling. 

"Better late than never, Jimmy."

_Jim, his name is Jim, you piece of—_ Bones scowled when Frank looked towards him, scoffed, then dismissed him as he turned back to Jim. He wished Frank was within arms' reach. A good jerk into the bars could break his nose, maybe shove some cartilage into the son of a bitch's brain, fracture his windpipe, break an eye socket... 

"I'll be right back."

It was barely audible, but Bones's eyes snapped forward towards Jim. 

"What? Jim, no. _No._ " Bones pressed his face to the bars. "Jim? _No._ " 

"I'll be right back," Jim repeated as if he never even heard Bones, his eyes giving away nothing, his mouth gray and thin as he smiled tightly. "We're just going to talk." The corner of Jim's right eye twitched. "Catch up on old times, all right?"

"No, it's not all right, dammit," Bones hissed and god, he wanted to loop an arm around Jim's neck and pin him there until sense came back. "Let me out of here and I'll go with you. Jim... _Jim!_ " Bones reached out an arm but Jim slipped past his fingers. He was dwarfed against Frank's broader frame and the minute Frank eclipsed Jim, something inside Bones snapped.

"You fucker, you get back here!" Bones roared at Frank's back as he kicked the bars. He saw Jim glance back at him, his eyes still dead, his stride wooden as they stepped beyond Bones's sight, out the door.

"Dammit!" Bones shouted and he slammed his palms on the bars. The shock rattled up his elbows. He stood there, shaking, clinging to the metal. He counted, "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three..." as he stood stooped by his cell bars, his body thrumming as he strained to hear outside. Of course he couldn't. The walls were too thick, but he craned to hear nonetheless.

 

Bones had lost count after a thousand Mississippi’s and was about to start hollering for the sheriff when the door finally opened and Jim came back in. He smiled wanly at Bones as he wiped his palms on his trousers.

"Okay," Jim said almost too brightly. He veered away from Bones's outstretched hand. "I think it's about time we go." Jim tossed up a keycard in his hand. He paused at Bones's look and that false air, that almost too wide of a smile retreated.

"Right." Jim took a deep breath. He inserted the keycard the sheriff had given him into a slot on the cell door. It took a few tries. Jim failed to hide the flinch when the door groaned as it scraped rusty hinges against cool stone floors. "Sheriff said we can go. I think he said something about damages but I told him to charge it under Spock's name. The guy could use a bit of scandal in his records."

Jim handed Bones back his tricorder. He snorted as Bones exited the cell in two large steps, but Jim silenced Bones before he could say anything when he swiveled back around. 

Bones was afraid to touch Jim. Jim stood there, his arms close to his sides, his face shuttered off but still giving him that tiny, tiny smile that hurt to look at more than if Jim hadn't smiled at all.

"Jim." Bones took a step forward. Jim took a step back.

The lump in his throat made it hard to speak. Bones stared at Jim.

"What happened?"

There was a little grimace. Jim's smile looked like a tight line, a sharp dagger slicing across his tender throat to bleed him dry.

"I talked." Jim started to walk, his legs straighter than usual, his strides more measured. "He listened." Jim glanced over his shoulder at Bones. His eyes were bleak, colorless.

"Sort of."

Bones hissed at the scraped knuckles he could see staining Jim's trousers as he tried to wipe his palms but before Bones could take a look, Jim stopped in his tracks.

"Bones." Jim's voice was toneless and weary. "Let's just go home."

Bones nodded with some difficulty and then wordlessly followed Jim out.

 

For once, Bones didn't insist on grabbing Sulu and Chekov out of the market to pilot the shuttle to return to the _Enterprise_. He trailed behind Jim, his medical tricorder still slung over Jim's shoulder by its strap, out of Bones's reach, not allowing him to do any scans. Bones kept an eye on Jim instead, watched for any limping, winces or scrapes. There were none. 

The colony was central to every spaceport and mining planet in the quadrant, so it was a cornucopia of alien species, strange trinkets and loud, rowdy noises. Jim saw none of that. He didn't even turn his head as he left the jail, eyes forward, neck stiff as a fleet admiral's. Bones followed behind Jim as he cut through crowds without batting an eye or the usual attention deficit puppy "Hey, Bones, will you look at that?" that usually had Jim dragging him in some damn direction he'd never wanted to go in the first place. No, this Jim was direct in a way that knotted his insides and whatever was on Jim's face warded everyone away when they normally steered for him. Jim often attracted attention, knew it, and relished it. 

Conversation started then died as they went. Not that Bones was really sure what he wanted to say. The stench of beer on his hair, clinging like film on his neck reminded him that hell, _he_ wasn't sure why he did what he did. Fuck, the minute that sack of shit said "Jimmy", everything was a red haze and his vision had only cleared when security had pulled him spitting and snarling off the guy. 

The public transport platform was located center of the colony's main city. Jim hopped up onto the platform, already whipping out his communicator as if restless natives were on their asses with big, pointy sticks. The only indication he was aware that Bones stood by him was the quick check to his left, offering an arched eyebrow before he signaled the _Enterprise_. His voice was weary when he ordered for two to beam up. There was no chance to say anything before the beam scrambled his atoms and flicked him back onto the ship.

"Come on," Jim said as soon as they materialized and Bones confirmed all parts of his anatomy were in the proper place. Damn transporters. Jim hooked a hand under Bones's elbow. "Sickbay."

"I can treat these on my own. I am a doctor, you know," Bones grumbled but he didn't shrug Jim's hand away. Ridiculously, he wanted to pull Jim in closer.

Jim rolled his eyes but said nothing as he steered for the turbolift for deck nine instead.

 

Bones couldn't get Jim to wait. Jim muttered absently that he needed to talk to the sheriff in his quarters, something to do with Bones's charges being dropped. Jim did promise to stop by after, though. It was something, at least.

Bones showered quickly, changed into clean sweats before running the dermal regenerator over his knuckles, his face, any scrape he could reach. He did enough to take the sting and the angry red-purple marks away, too rushed to do a more thorough job but it wasn't like he was in any real pain. In fact, if anything, he felt numb, as numb as Jim had looked coming back into the jail alone, Frank nowhere to be found. Bones kept glancing over at his door so when it finally chimed, Bones was already there to open it by the second chime.

Jim appeared startled, not expecting the response.

The two men stood there at the threshold, staring at each other. 

There was so much Bones wanted to say, to ask, but all that would come out was a lame ass "Hey."

It hurt to see how relieved Jim looked at that, his returning "Hey" delivered with a sigh and relaxing shoulders.

Jim scanned Bones up and down.

"Nothing too serious?" Jim asked quietly. His shoulders relaxed further when Bones shook his head. Jim's mouth twisted to a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

"So congratulations, you're officially banned from your first planet." Jim smiled faintly. He folded his arms in front of him and shook his head.

"Bones, Bones, Bones..."

"Oh, like _you've_ never been barred from a planet before," Bones grunted. He wondered why Jim stood there, making no move to come in. "Don't worry, you still hold the record."

There was a faint smirk acknowledging Bones, acknowledging the fact that this conversation was complete bullshit, done only to fill in the silence that would have otherwise hung between them.

"Yes, well…" Jim trailed off and he finished whatever he was going to say with a lift of his shoulders. 

Bones shifted.

"You uh...want to come in for a drink?" Bones invited, suddenly finding himself in the odd position of _needing_ to get Jim to come in. Usually, Jim would shove past him, with all the grace of a starship at maximum warp heading for the Neutral Zone, grinning as he’d drop down onto Bones's sofa, clumping his boots onto whatever passed for a coffee table. It was like that in the Academy; here on the _Enterprise_ , also. Usually.

Jim stared at Bones from the doorway, rubbing his palms on his trousers for what had to be the hundredth time. He swiped the tip of his tongue across his lower lip, suddenly looking younger and unsure. "No. Uh...I need to take a shower. I'm..." Jim looked away like he'd already forgotten what he was going to say next. He blinked, swallowed hard and tried again. 

"I should go get a...a shower." Jim wiped his hands on his uniform again. "I have to be on the bridge in a few hours."

"Jim," Bones said as carefully as he could, pushing back the heavy emphasis that wanted to come out. 

Jim shuddered and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"I hit him, Bones." 

Jim stared at his hands as if he had never seen them before. He turned them palms down and stared at his bruised knuckles. "He started yelling as soon as we stepped outside and I...I hit him and hit him and suddenly I knew if I didn't walk away, I wouldn't be able to stop."

Bones eyed the corridor uneasily. No one was around to hear their captain.

"I think..." Bones said slowly, "I know the feeling."

Jim stared at him, like that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear, like he _wanted_ Bones to start going "Dammit, Jim". He blinked, looked down at his knuckles and swallowed.

"Gonna be sick," Jim mumbled.

Bones made a decision right there. He moved his hand to cup Jim's elbow more firmly and steered him into his quarters, into his bathroom. He barely caught Jim in time when his knees buckled.

"Whoa! Okay, I got you," Bones soothed as he eased Jim down to his knees, one arm around Jim's middle, his other hand curled around Jim's forehead as Jim retched into the toilet.

"Fuck," Jim bit out as his whole body quivered. His stomach was rigid under Bones's arm. Jim vomited bile, gagging as his stomach still insisted on upturning itself. After a point though, Jim rested an arm on the bowl. He hunched over, chest heaving.

"Better?" Bones asked. He didn't step away, but rather pressed closer to the solid build shaking minutely against him. A wave of _protectholdI'llkeepyousafe_ crashed over him that left him lightheaded, bloodless like when he was in that bar, making the connection as a shitfaced freighter engineer garbled on and on about that useless sack of flesh Jimmy Kirk. 

"Not really," Jim ground out. He coughed, his head hanging low. Jim spat into the toilet. He breathed harshly, kneeling there. Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

"There was a point…when I realized I might not be able to stop, I realized I was just like him. Fuck, I think I _enjoyed_..." 

Bones moved his hands to Jim's shoulders and turned him around. Jim felt brittle and hollow. It reminded Bones the memory of his childhood farm's cat, after it was found ravaged by wild dogs. Jim was moving far too easy under his hands. This wasn't Jim. Jim fought.

"You are _nothing_ like him," Bones hissed, sharper than the situation warranted, punctuated by an equally sharp shake to Jim's shoulders. 

Jim's eyes were glazed as he considered Bones.

"Why did you hit him?"

The question was too soft to ignore and Bones said the first thing that came to mind. It was the last thing he should have said though.

"Because you couldn't then."

Loose-limbed became stiff with anger. Jim's eyes hardened.

"Fuck you," Jim snarled and jerkily, he tried to get up to his feet, shrugging off Bones's grip.

"I'm not some fucking weak ass damsel in distress, Bones," Jim snapped as he knocked into the sink, trying to regain a footing Bones suspected Jim never got back since he was a child. There had been no one to offer a steadying hand.

"I'm a goddamn captain of a starship! I could blow that rusting freighter out of the black! I don't need you or anyone else trying to—"

Bones slipped a hand around the back of Jim's neck. Jim angrily slapped it off.

"Knock it off, Bones! I—"

"I know you're captain," Bones said with a patience that surprised even himself. "You are captain. _Out there._ " Bones nodded towards the door. He carefully curled his hands over Jim's shoulders, giving them a brief squeeze.

"In here though," Bones continued, "it's just you and me. Just Jim and Bones, all right? You can be captain for the whole goddamn universe out there, but in here, with me, you can be Jim. You don't have to be anyone else."

Jim stood under Bones's grip, chest heaving, his breath whistling harshly between clenched teeth, but he didn't knock Bones's hand away again when Bones cupped the back of Jim's head and pulled Jim into a loose-limbed embrace.

"I hit him today," Bones whispered into Jim's ear even as he stepped in closer to the rigid body and pulled him in, "because I wanted to hit him _then_. It was really more for me because I'm just selfish that way. Ask my ex." Bones rubbed Jim's back with slow strokes, ironing out the stiffness that kept it rigid.

Jim's head lowered, lowered, until it rested on Bones's shoulder. 

"I'm not six any more," Jim mumbled against Bones's throat.

Bones wrapped his arms tighter around him. Jim sagged against him. "Could have fooled me, kid," Bones drawled and felt rather than heard Jim's choked laugh. He felt Jim tentatively raise his hands and grab a small fold of the back of his shirt. And begin to shake.

"I…"

"It's okay," Bones whispered and even though he told himself he shouldn't (because the edge he knew he'd always toed before now yawned underneath him), he brushed his lips across Jim's brow, skimmed his hairline.

"You've been taking care of yourself all your life, you take care of us and this ship." Bones felt Jim clutching tighter to the back of his shirt.

"Jim. Right now. It's okay."

There was no response, just a soft exhale against his throat, muscles settling, leaning against him as if every ounce of strength bled out of Jim like a slit wrist. Bones hugged Jim tighter to his body and the rage he had felt fueled by that bastard's smirking recounts ebbed away to something more intimate, more protective.

Jim shivered and Bones was reminded of the distant look Jim walked away wearing. 

"Sometimes words aren't needed. It's okay," Bones talked quietly into Jim's ear as he guided, steered, coaxed Jim into the shower stall. Jim never protested, even went as far as lifting his arms up so his shirt could be pulled over his head.

There were a million reasons why this, right now, was a bad idea. None of which occurred to Jim or Bones. Jim kept his eyes on Bones, unabashed as he stood naked in front of him or as Bones carefully worked shampoo into his hair.

It was both humbling and frightening how Jim closed his eyes, dipped his head and let Bones carefully massage in suds. Foamy lather trailed down Jim's face, too much like tears that a lump formed and lodged in Bones's throat. His fingers rubbed deep into Jim's scalp. Jim shivered.

"Cold?" Bones asked and at the tiny furrow between Jim's brow and small nod, Bones turned up the temperature of the already hot water.

Then stepped into the shower.

"Bones?" 

"You're going into shock," Bones told him because medical talk Bones could do, because it was specific, it was factual. It didn't explain though why water ran down his hair, stuck his sweatshirt to his body, why he stood so close to Jim, to the point that he could feel Jim's lax genitals against the damp material over his thigh.

"You're getting wet," Jim mumbled, but he didn't push Bones away. He dropped his head onto Bones's right shoulder and his arms crept around Bones's middle once more.

"Tends to happen," Bones said lightly as he smoothed a sponge down the elegant line of Jim's spine, "when one's in the shower, you idiot." 

There was a choked laugh against him. Fingers twisted into the back of his shirt, but Bones said nothing more. He just skimmed the sponge down faint scars and smooth skin.

"Still cold?" Bones asked.

"Don't think I can ever get warm."

Bones blinked hard. "You will."

Jim just tilted his head up and stared through wet spiked lashes, sodden hair, soap streaming down like white tears on his face. 

"I think if I hadn't stopped," Jim confessed, "I would have killed him."

Bones brushed a knuckle across Jim's lower lip. 

"Then I would have helped you hide the body." 

Jim's eyes widened minutely. He stared at Bones's mouth as if trying to decipher what he'd just said. Bones stood still, barely breathing as Jim took a steadying breath and then he was leaning forward and their mouths met in the middle.

Hands swept up to cradle his head and Bones simply followed the command as he parted his mouth and swallowed Jim's exhale. Teeth clashed, tongues darted and swiped and after a few dizzying moments, Bones's wet sweatpants were around his ankles as he crushed Jim to the tile wall, grinding his cock against a matching erection.

Christ, the skin on skin contact flared tiny fires up and down his body on places Bones never thought could feel again. Jim grazed his teeth over his damp shirt, over his hardening nipples before swirling the tip of his tongue in the hollows of his collarbone. He grunted as Jim groaned, strength pushing back against strength as muscles knotted, heated under curled hands and demanding mouths.

The water beat down over their heads and Bones could feel slippery skin sliding against him. He growled, Jim bit his lower lip, and he slammed his full weight onto Jim, pinning him to a corner of the narrow stall, a hand gripping Jim's right leg, bending it on the knee, opening Jim wider. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, there was a voice telling him to ease back, slow down, this wasn't what they should be doing.

Jim merely hissed, his hands curled tighter on Bones's biceps, a captain's order to stay, his eyes burning blue where they were dazed and lost before. Jim slapped a hand behind him, bracing himself, pulling his knee higher, almost keening as soapy fingers greedily slipped down his back, following the line along the narrow valley from the dip of his spine to between his cheeks. Bones's finger circled the puckered entrance. He worked a finger in. The ring of flesh stretched and parted beneath the foreign pressure and he felt Jim's fingers clench against his arm. He slipped past the sphincter, pushing in deeper. It was warm and tight and he could feel Jim's breath heave hot against his chest as he pushed in all the way, the muscles grabbing at him as he went.

Bones rested his forehead against Jim's as his throat clenched while he eased backward and then forward, feeling the hot breaths against his chest in match to the heat of his passage. He pushed in deeper each time then God, one, two, three fingers and Jim was so goddamn tight, _too_ tight, he nearly pulled back, only Jim's sharp "Don't you fucking dare" and a curled, almost too painful fist on his erection guided him back to Jim.

_Shit._

Then he was pressing against the entrance, the opening almost too tight against him, resisting and then finally yielding, slipping open under the blunt pressure. It was hot, hotter than the water pounding on his back and dripping into his mouth, opening and then clenching around him. He caught his breath against Jim's shoulder as he sank in, feeling the warm muscles grab hold of him, surrounding him, so incredibly tight that he could feel it everywhere as he moved forward inch by inch until he was pressed against Jim and buried to the hilt.

There was a dark gleam of satisfaction on Jim's face when Bones was finally fully sheathed inside Jim, a smug glitter that flittered to _needhungerwant_ at the first thrust up into a heat Bones had never tasted.

Jim smelled of soap and salt and just _Jim_ as Bones's hips snapped into him, hard enough that Jim bucked. His toes on his bent right leg curled, his thigh pressing back against Bones's hip. The angle was awkward and his back ached from the strain. The sight of Jim, though, with his eyes closed, mouth parted, neck gracefully stretched out and slick from the shower had Bones repeatedly slamming into Jim so hard, Jim was gliding up and down the slick tiles.

Jim was panting in short breaths and he had his eyes squeezed so tightly shut, and Bones could feel something just there, right there, at the end of his reach. He angled it harder. Harder. It was there, almost there. And Jim's fingers clenched against him that he knew there would be bruises. 

When they both came, it was fucking glorious. It didn't matter, at that point, who wept. 

 

"How did you know it was him?"

Bones paused in his exploration: using his mouth to map the compact topography of Jim's bare back, nipping and tasting the knobby ridges of his curved spine. 

Jim never turned around, his face half-buried in a pillow, his arms folded and tucked underneath it, like he was trying to smother himself.

"Wasn't like I kept any famil—holo pictures around in my dorm or here."

Bones felt a sharp pang in his chest when Jim faltered over the word _family_. Bones had frames of his little girl dotted everywhere in his office, his quarters, even in his old room despite the divorce being too sharp, like salt on wounds. Only picture Jim ever had was one of him when he was three, Winona Kirk (Jim always called her 'she' and never 'mom') and an older boy Jim refused to ever talk about. It stood in a retrofitted antique frame Bones gave him as a _not_ -birthday present third year and it stayed tucked inside his desk, under a stack of old PADDs. Jim only pulled it out on Remembrance Day to look at with a bottle of Bones's bourbon.

Warm skin tickled him when Bones carefully draped himself across Jim's body like a blanket. It was with some awe he spread his hands out, splayed on the small of Jim's back. He compared his hands on the golden tan that only now started covering the age-old wire thin white lines. It was Jim's road map to grief; Frank's legacy.

"I…" Bones set his jaw. "He was drunk."

"So what else is new?" There was no bitterness in Jim's words, not anymore; just resignation. The weary acceptance boiled in Bones's gut and there was regret he wasn't strong enough to finish Frank off. "He likes to brag."

"Even if I didn't know whom he was referring to," Bones ignored Jim's comment as he gently kneaded the hard cords of muscle he could feel bunched under his hands. He let his fingers wander to the top of the cleft, his thumbs rubbing circles to the hint of a crease, on the fold of sensitive skin. Jim's breath hitched.

"I would have punched him anyway." Bones lowered his head and nuzzled the edge of soft hair that ended at the nape of Jim’s neck. Jim smelled like their shower, the shampoo Bones used, the soap Bones massaged over that slim, athletic build.

"Mm," Jim just said as he pushed back, his buttocks pressing into his hands. 

Bones kissed his right shoulder blade. "Sh…" He rubbed, squeezed the tanned buttocks and thought of how Jim must have sunbathed naked for the sun to reach him there. He gulped, feeling heavy between his legs once more and dammit, he wasn't a horny teenager but Christ, how could he want to go _again_?

"I can't believe you hit him," Jim whispered. Bones wished he didn't sound so amazed.

Bones grazed his teeth on Jim's back, licking the indents his ribs made. 

"I would have killed him," Bones murmured as Jim wiggled onto his back, his mouth eagerly meeting up with his. Their tongues clashed, dueling against one another. Their teeth bumped and Jim bit wetly at his lower lip, nipping it lightly before letting it go.

Jim trailed opened mouthed kisses down his throat, lingered on his sternum, then wandered to breathe warmly on a hardening nub. Bones closed his eyes and swallowed. Jim's hands skimmed his front, fingernails lightly scratching on his growing erection.

Bones groaned Jim's name as he rocked his cock into the fold where Jim's hip and torso met. Jim made satisfied hums, exhaled his name as he curled his hands around him. He tightened his fist, creating an erratic tempo. His thumb brushed hard across the slit at the top causing shocks of electricity to shoot up his cock. 

It was the third time he came, spilling into Jim's loose fists. He sank back down on the bed, spent, lightheaded. His hands brushed over Jim's body, though, because sight and taste weren’t enough. He needed to memorize Jim's skin as well with his hands, imprint him against his own skin.

"Would you have helped me hide the body?" Bones rasped as he kissed Jim's jaw, rubbed against the rough, sandpapery feel of stubble, the satin feel of his chest. Jim was a fascinating contradiction; an addiction. 

"I think Starfleet regulations would require me to put you in the brig actually." Jim half-yelped, half-laughed when Bones showed him what he thought about that regulation. Jim chortled, twisted his torso away from fingers, legs tangling with Bones's legs until they were too intertwined and they lay chest to chest, staring at each other.

Jim tentatively stroked a finger down Bones's face.

"It's okay." Jim said in a hushed voice. He captured Bones's left hand and brushed his lips across still reddened knuckles.

Bones watched Jim for a moment and something flared in his chest, loosened in his gut and dammit, he wanted to grin. Only he was worried it was just going to make him a shade less than maniacal.

"No, it hurts like hell." Bones said, grinning anyway because Jim was grinning so why the fuck not? He settled a hand over Jim's heart.

"Is it okay?" Bones asked quietly in return.

Jim's smile faded but his eyes never dimmd. "No, it hurt like hell." Jim hooked an arm around Bones's neck and pulled him back down to him and he breathed against his lips. "But it's okay, for now."

The certainty in Jim's voice only echoed what was already inside him. Out there was the duty and the abyss and all the nightmares of the past, or the ones that were waiting to jump out and try to take down the Federation's ass, but in here, between them... 

Bones didn't voice his promise out loud as he sealed his mouth over Jim's. There was no need to. 

Sometimes, words just weren’t needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Today: I want to post new stories, but need a Kirk/McCoy beta-reader. Anyone interested in giving it a try?
> 
> Feedback is always welcomed!


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